


I Taught Another Boy to Fish, Once

by stantheshirehorse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:56:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stantheshirehorse/pseuds/stantheshirehorse
Summary: Imagining Arthur teaching his son, Isaac, to fish.





	I Taught Another Boy to Fish, Once

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit obsessed with the idea of Arthur as a dad  
> Again quite fluffy but I like the idea of Arthur at one time being a bit softer  
> (Might have got ages/timelines a bit wrong)

"Shit."  
Arthur imagines that's not what you're supposed to say when a woman tells you they're pregnant with your child. But that's what he thought and so that's what he said. Just being honest.  
Still, Eliza looks hurt. She averts her gaze, blushes, moves away to sit down.  
"'Liza..." he starts, feeling guilty now. "I'm...I'm sorry I just didn't...expect this."  
"Well neither did I," she says fiercely, with sudden strength, bitter tears stinging her eyes. He just catches them glistening before she looks away again.  
He shuffles awkwardly, looking about him. He takes his hat off with a sigh. "Eliza...I ain't...I ain't marriage material. I ain't good enough to be your husband. Aside from that it just wouldn't be safe for you...or the...child."  
"I know that Arthur," she says, almost wistfully. "I ain't askin' you to marry me. I know who and what you are. I just thought you should know because it is yours."  
It sounds like she's assuming and accepting he will leave and never come back. He might have been happy about that, seen it as his freedom, but that's not what he wants either. He might not be able to get married but he can make another kind of vow.  
"I'll do right by you, Eliza."  
She looks up, surprised at this change in tone.  
"I swear to you," he says intensely, crouching on the floor in front of her. "I will help, to the best of my ability, I will. I'll give you money and I'll...I can't live with you or nothin' but I'll protect you. Make sure you're safe and fed and..." He leans back on his heels. "Shit. I guess I'll be a father."  
It dawns on him this new responsibility he has. That he is determined to do right. He realises all that he is planning is all within the job description of "father", no matter how much that word terrifies him. All but marriage. He can't promise her that. Not with his life. He can't imagine Eliza the nineteen-year-old waitress who he's spent every night with for the last two weeks running with the gang, or being the woman he spends the rest of his life with. He's twenty and so he's hoping there's a lot of it left. He'll be everything in deed but not in title.  
"Well, as much of a father as I can be with my limited experience."  
She smiles at him a little. "I think you'll be a good father, Arthur."  
"I don't know about that," he laughs nervously. The humour dies and the smile falls from his face. He looks down as he plays with the rope on his hat. "My daddy...well...he wasn't much of a father. The best thing he did for me was die and leave me all alone. I don't intend on makin' the same mistakes as he did."

When his son starts calling him Pa it sends a jolt through him. That name he associates with the man who would be drunk most days and, on the days he was exceptionally drunk, beat him. That ain't a person he associates himself with and it ain't a name he thought he would ever be given.  
But when little Isaac says it, when he's just about able to speak, it damn near makes his heart melt.  
He stays true to his word. He sends Eliza half of his take from the camp's earnings. He drops by the little cabin that she has made into a home as much as he can, as much as is safe. Sometimes it won't be for weeks or months on end because they're moving further West or South or there's law on them or some feud with a rival gang. It's during these times that he sends the money under a variety of false names.  
"I like Tacitus," Eliza murmurs sleepily, falling asleep against his chest.  
He often stays a night or two. He feels guilty somehow, sharing a bed with her when it is that what got them into this situation in the first place. Sharing a bed with her when he refuses to marry her. But she doesn't seem to mind, and she doesn't seem to mind when he leaves either. She tells him repeatedly how grateful she is of his help. That makes him feel even guiltier because he wonders if she is only putting up with it as not to scare him off, and because it suggests that she imagined that he wouldn't help, and that makes him question what sort of man he is. Not a man worthy of a woman like her, who is good and loyal and deserves a husband who is there all the time and has a steady, honest, at the least lawful income.

As often as she thanks him she tells him she enjoys his company. And he enjoys hers. It's nice to know there's a permanent bed waiting for him that won't have to be torn down at a moment's notice and will be shared by a friendly warm body and not a snoring sweaty gunslinger covered in dirt and blood.  
Usually his visits are after one of the longer stints of being on the run. It's after a prolonged period of time living as an outlaw, being treated like an outlaw, being constantly inescapably aware that he is an outlaw, that he likes these moments of rest and quiet and the resemblance of safety and normality. The gang is everything to him; they're his family. But he can't deny that he enjoys this taste of a good honest living and a domestic life.  
Although, he panics when he thinks too hard about that. When he thinks of Eliza and Isaac as his family, names them collectively as a concept, that concept. That's usually when he bolts, or only stays for an afternoon.  
Because his visits are few and far between, it feels like Isaac is growing faster than he should be. Arthur was nervous about his relationship with him even before he was born and that hasn't changed. He's worried it makes him seem harsh or aloof, especially as the boy becomes of an age at which he will understand dynamics and naturally look for connection with his father. He hopes he's building that connection with him. He's not sure how to do that or even if he could given that he's absent most of the boy's life, but he's trying. Eliza assure him he's doing a good job, that Isaac is always excited to see him. That makes him happy in a way that no amount of money ever could.

"I's me," he calls, rapping his knuckles on the door as he opens it. He's not greeted with a running six-year-old with a beaming grin as he's become accustomed to, but instead Isaac sat on a chair and Eliza dabbing at his bruised and bleeding face with a damp cloth. She straightens to share a look with him. Isaac looks ashamed when he sees him enter, burning red and looking down.  
"What happened?" Arthur asks immediately, closing the door behind him.  
"Some boys from the town who he goes to play with beat him," Eliza says, the hardness in her tone meant for them. "Turned on him for no reason."  
Isaac is still looking at his shoes hanging miserably off the chair, refusing to look at his father. Arthur crouches down in front of him.  
"They hit you?"  
Isaac nods.  
"Did you hit them?"  
Isaac shakes his head.  
"That's probably for the best," he murmurs reluctantly.  
He wants to tell the boy to fight back, teach him how to, but he's not sure how Eliza would feel about that. Well, he has a pretty good idea how she would feel about that: she wouldn't like it. She is perfectly accepting of his life, for which he is grateful, but the only time she explicitly disapproves is when she's concerned that Isaac is going to get drawn into it. In fact, that's really the only time they argue.

_"Don't be coming in here covered in blood and God-knows what else. No child should have to see their father stained with another man's blood. What if he asks what you do for a livin'?"_  
_"Tell him."_  
_"Tell him that his daddy robs and kills people? What sort of example is that?"_  
_"It's the only example I got."_  
_"I am not sendin' him down that path."_  
_"Well six is probably a bit young, I'll give you that. Seven, maybe."_  
_She looks at him, her mouth trying to twist its way out of a smile. He smirks, knowing his dry humour always is what diffuses the situation. She hates that she loves him for it. "Damn you, Arthur Morgan."_

He gently lifts the boy's head with a finger under his chin, inspecting his face. The injuries are superficial but rough for a child. "They got you pretty good huh?"  
Isaac nods again.  
"What happened?"  
Isaac sniffs and glances at him with teary eyes.  
"You can tell me, it's okay," he prompts softly.  
Isaac seems to shrink into his chair and his voice grows quiet as he mumbles, "They said I didn't have a proper daddy and it was Momma's fault and I probably don't know who my real daddy is."  
Arthur grits his teeth, tries not to explode with the anger he feels and scare the boy. "Anythin' else?"  
"That I was gonna end up down a mine or in the workhouse and somethin' about Momma earnin' money on the street."  
It's clear from his confused expression that he is reciting without understanding, but Arthur understands plenty.  
He glances up at Eliza. By the look on her face she's hearing it all for the first time as well. "How old are these kids?"  
"A bit older, maybe," she's frowning, confused and angry and deeply insulted but doing well to hide it. "But I thought they all got on well."  
Arthur turns back to Isaac. "Look at me."  
He tentatively raises his eyes, worried he's going to get in trouble.  
"You listen to me, son. I'm your daddy. Alright? I'm your Pa and I'm always gonna be. Now I- I might not be around all the time like these other boys' fathers but that don't make no difference, you hear? That don't make me any less your father or mean I love you any less. So you remember that the next time those boys try and tell you any different and pay no mind to them. You got that?"  
Isaac nods, dragging a sleeve across his nose with a sniff. Reassured, he's looking a little brighter, more confident, able to look Arthur in the eye. For Arthur it's like looking into his own; he's passed them down and Isaac's are the exact same shade of blue-green.  
"Good. Now," Arthur says, grabbing the cloth from the bucket and gently finishing cleaning him up. "No more talk about this. I got an idea for somethin' that might cheer you up."

"Is it meant to take this long?"  
Arthur chuckles. "Yeah, just be patient now."  
"Fishin's not as fun as I thought it would be," Isaac says thoughtfully, carefully. He always does his utmost to enjoy any activity with his father, just enjoying spending time with him and anxious to get the most out of it.  
"Ah you just wait till we catch a fish."  
"Will it be a big one?"  
"Well that depends on how good a fisherman you are," Arthur says. He leans down to wrap his fingers around Isaac's. "Now, you just make sure you got a nice firm grip because when you get a bite, you gotta be ready for it."  
"Okay Pa," He says earnestly, with a new determination to be a good fisherman.  
"Good boy." Arthur straightens and rests his hands gently on Isaac's head, brushing through his soft auburn hair. It's not as red as his mother's, whose is a deep wine colour, but the pale autumn light picks out the warm undertones.  
"I didn't know fish liked cheese," Isaac says.  
"The smell of it draws 'em in," Arthur explains. "That's why we use that old bluey stuff."  
Without looking, he knows what face Isaac is pulling, nose scrunched up in disgust, and he chuckles to himself.  
He feels content, calm and even...happy. Spending time with his son, in the last of the year's warmth, looking out over the water that's peacefully reflecting the yellows and reds and browns of the leaves on the trees. He's sure he's seen a watercolour painting in a hotel room, once, and it looked something like this. He didn't think moments like this existed.  
Suddenly, the water's mirror surface is disrupted by ripples and bubbles, as something takes the bait and starts struggling.  
"Woah!" Isaac laughs excitedly, almost thrown off balance. He struggles to keep control of the rod as the line goes taut and starts trembling. "It must be a big one!"  
"Looks like it!" Arthur says, delighted himself. "You got him. Don't reel it while he's strugglin'. Hold the line tight until he tires himself..." He wraps his hands of Isaac's to help him hold the rod steady. Finally the line goes quiet. "Now, reel!"  
Isaac excitedly starts winding the line back in. In his rush he goes to fast and it can't keep up. The line snaps and the sudden absence of tension causes him to fall backwards which in domino effect causes Arthur to fall backwards too. Isaac lands on top of him and immediately starts to giggle, which makes Arthur laugh with him.  
"You okay?" He assumes yes, given the laughter.  
"Yeah," Isaac is still giggling, and does for a while.  
"Are you ever gonna stop laughing?"  
Isaac shakes his head.  
"No?"  
"N-o!" Isaac gasps out.  
"Well then," Arthur attacks his already aching sides with tickles, making him scream in fear and delight. He rolls off Arthur's torso and lands softly on the ground next to him.  
Laughing affectionately, Arthur leans up onto one elbow to look at him. He's rolling around on the grass, head tilted back, clutching his stomach which is hurting from the laughter. If his split lip and bruises are causing him pain he doesn't seem to notice. It's pure joy and Arthur's not sure he's ever felt this before.

"So was fishin' as fun as you thought after all?" Arthur asks as they ride towards home.  
"Yeah," Isaac grins. "I wish we coulda seen the fish though."  
"Yeah, he must have been a monster. You'd have been able to eat for a week from that."  
That is met with a contemplative silence. "I'm not sure I'd like to eat fish for a whole week."  
Arthur bursts out laughing at that. The childish sincerity of the hypothetical.  
"What's so funny?" he asks earnestly.  
"Nothing," Arthur chuckles, trying to suppress his laughter since he can't explain it to the boy. "Say, why don't you take the reins? Let's see how your ridin's gettin' along."  
"Okay," Isaac enthuses, eager to prove himself. His legs are still slightly too short to be able to properly control the horse's speed but his steering is near perfect.  
"Hey, you're gettin' pretty good there, son," Arthur says, impressed. "You been practicin'?"  
"No silly," Isaac laughs. "We don't have a horse!"  
"Oh, that's right you don't," Arthur plays along. "You just got so good I thought you must have been practicin' since I last took you ridin'."  
"Nope!" Isaac grins again.  
"Well then, you must just be a natural."  
Pleased with the praise, Isaac turns around in the saddle to beam at him. Arthur smiles back, so full of love in that moment it pains him. He gets lost in it, in the golden glow caused by the evening sun but that is so perfect for a golden moment, until he is brought quickly back to the present by the threat of an oncoming wagon.  
"Watch out!"

Isaac guides them the rest of the way home without any further incident. They hitch the horse outside the cabin, and as Arthur is helping Isaac dismount Eliza appears in the doorway.  
"You boys have fun?"  
"Yeah!" Isaac beams. "We almost caught a huge fish!"  
"Almost? What happened?"  
"It was so big it broke the line!" he says, running up the steps to the porch.  
"No!"  
"Yes, Momma!"  
Arthur leans against his horse, watching the exchange. His heart glows with the same golden light.  
As Isaac speculates on the size and colour of the fish and how much cheese it likes to eat, Eliza catches Arthur looking. She smiles at him and he thinks maybe he could marry her after all. In that moment Arthur realises what family and happiness really is.

That's why he now knows what grief and sorrow and pain really is.  
He stares at the crosses marking the mounds of earth in front of the cabin. A little grass is starting to grow on them now.  
He had hunted down and killed the bastards that tore his family from him. It took him less than two days. It had made him want to cry when he learned that it was all for the sake of ten dollars, but instead he beat the man bloody. He had seen revenge killings before, helped facilitate some of them. He himself had never killed out of anything but necessity or business. Anger, sometimes, too, yes. But there is a difference between being pissed off at someone for stealing the saddlebag full of money off his horse and the all-consuming burning hatred for the small-time criminals who took from him two of the people he cared about most in the world. That, he would come to realise in later life, was the kill that signposted the path he chose to go down.  
He arrived back at camp, to his other family of a different kind, a changed man. The change was unnoticeable to the outside eye, even to Dutch and Hosea and John, who knew him best. They saw in the short-term the anger and the grief and the blood on his hands, but they didn't see how his heart froze over, how his conscience was numbed, how everything mattered just that little bit less. He was colder, the warmth of that day at the lake drained out of him.

It hardened him, feeling that kind of pain. And it made him understand that he couldn't be a bad man and expect good things to happen.


End file.
